


If Not Forever - A New Year's Eve story

by coulsons-hawk (allyoop)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Get Together, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, New Year's Eve, New York City, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:05:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoop/pseuds/coulsons-hawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint was in trouble, serious trouble and he may actually die this time.<br/>In other words, it was a normal holiday for The Avengers.</p><p>(a.k.a. Clint has a list of ridiculous 2012 resolutions and he is desperate to finish them on the last day of the year.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Not Forever - A New Year's Eve story

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the style of a 5 +1 fic.
> 
> Happy 2013 everyone :)

  
This fic has an accompying image [here](http://coulsons-hawk.tumblr.com/post/39343783808/happy-new-years-everyone-i-wrote-a-ridiculously).

* * *

\----1----

            

Clint ricocheted off a stray tree in his mad dash through the forest. He had almost tripped while he was glancing behind him, but years of training kept him balanced. He was actually worried. He might not make it out in time.

            There was a crackling over his comm. “Are y-… -Barton can-…-just out of range-….” Clint cursed under his breath. The comm was still faulty from when he leapt into the waterfall to escape the menace behind him. He flicked it couple of times. The crackling decreased. “-report. _Barton I repeat; report or I swear I will-_ ”

            “Coulson! Am I glad to hear your voice. Can you hear me now?”

            He heard a short sigh. “Barton. Where are you? Can you meet at the rendezvous point in 45 seconds?”

            “I can be there in 30. Up high?”

            “Up high.” The comm went quiet and only Clint’s controlled breathing could be heard. He was sprinting, narrowly avoiding overhanging branches and loose stones. All the time he had gained by taking the waterfall shortcut would still only afford him a narrow window to escape. He thought back to his research when he began this endeavor. The human musculoskeletal system maxes out at 27 miles an hour. The monster chasing him, since he was lucky, averaged on the slow side of 30 miles an hour. It was angry. The hard part was over. Now he just had to run.

            He was rapidly approaching the meeting point. He checked that his bow and arrows were securely attached, and sprang towards the lowest branch of the tree and hauled himself up and up and up.  The tree began to shake from below. Clint’s pursuer had finally caught up. He heard the chopper blades and laughed from relief. The rope ladder was thrown down to him and he climbed quickly into the helicopter.  He fell, leg muscles cramping, halfway into the seat and halfway onto Coulson.

            Clint looked up from his nice vantage point on Coulson’s lap. “You’re always late. That’s a problem.”

            “You punched a bear, Barton. I don’t think I am the one with the problem.”

            Clint stuck out his tongue. “I had my reasons, _important_ reasons!”

            “But that still doesn’t make _punching a bear_ a wise decision.”

            “Wisdom doesn’t have fun.”

            “Wisdom stays _alive_ , Barton. Do try to stay alive for the last day of 2012? I would really hate to have Director Fury confine you to your room on New Year’s Eve just to ensure you don’t die.” Coulson narrowed his eyes at Barton, but his slightly upturned mouth gave him away. Clint took this opportunity to dart his hand out and boop Coulson on the nose.

            “You do care! How nice.”

            His handler just rolled his eyes and pushed Clint off his lap, heading towards the cockpit. “The next time you decide to punch a mammal, pick one a bit less dangerous. Perhaps a rabbit?”

            “Haven’t you heard?” Clint called after him. “The rabbit’s got teeth!” He chuckled at his own joke, still feeling a headrush from the adrenaline. He dug into his breast pocket and pulled out a very crumpled and stained piece of paper. He read it again, even though at this point he had it memorized. _One more down_ he thought _only 4 more left to go._

 

\----2 + 3----

 

            Coulson thought today might be cursed. 2012 seemed determined to end in the most ridiculous way possible, as if it was desperate to be memorable. On his way back from picking his reckless agent up from his kamikaze bear encounter, Director Fury had called. Coulson sighed his way through most of the message, but he still re-plotted their route to Times Square first.  Apparently the crowds had begun to descend on the plaza and were blocked by a sentient army of traffic cones. The orange cones, outraged at being picked up and pushed around, merged and stacked on top of one another to form one large pyramidical foe.  They were to meet the rest of the team as soon as possible. He glanced behind him at Clint, who had flopped across the backseat, _Return of the King_ in hand.

            “Barton? New orders. We’re-“

            “I heard. Now shhh, I’m getting close to the end.”

            Clint’s forest adventure had fortunately been not too far away, and so they landed just in time to see Thor deliver a hammer throw so strong that it knocked the cone monster back into his many triangular parts.  The furious cones sought their revenge, swarming over Thor and pushing him back against a building. The rest of the team fared about as well. Only Iron Man was able to fly away in time, but a few cones still latched onto him, thwacking him with their tiny fists and making him unbalanced in the air.

Clint grinned over his open book. “This is gonna be fun.” He pushed through the shocked passersby and, hands still occupied, began kicking the short orange terrors off of his teammates. He unburied Natasha first, who gave a curt nod before joining the fray herself, her taser-enhanced punches proving especially effective on the cones. With a few well-placed sweeping kicks (and one swat with his heavy Tolkien book), Captain was helped out of the pile. Hulk of course did not need Clint’s help as he shook like a wet dog, spraying cones across the street. The army of cones may have been many, but they were fragile. Thor’s mighty swings ended the lives of most of the remaining fighting piles. He was laughing, making a sport of how far across the plaza he could bunt the cones.

            “Yo, Legolas, a little help here?” Tony called down from his midair tumble with a cone. “This one has gotten wedged up in my back and won’t let go. I can’t shake him.” He did a flip for emphasis. “He got his tiny fingers clawed into the metal or something.”

           “Can’t you shoot him off?”

           “If I could do that, idiot, I would have already. Come on, Hawk. Before this thing finds a way into my circuitry. You do not want a sentient cone controlling the armor. Just imagine all the traffic jams it would try to cause.”

           Clint groaned. And he had been doing so well without… He looked back at his book. A few more pages and he would be finished. “I’m going to climb up that fire escape to reach you, okay?” He could see Tony wave a hand in understanding. Eyes never leaving the page, Clint ran up the steps until he was level with Iron Man.

           “Any day now!” Tony shouted.

           “And…I am done!” Clint closed he book and aimed. The hard-backed book soared through the air and knocked the cone off of Tony’s back. Clint watched the book hit the ground with a crunch. “You owe me a new one, Stark!”

           The clean up had begun below them. SHEILD’s unmarked black vans had rolled in and swept up the streets, filling the trunks with bags of now-lifeless cones. The Avengers were dusting themselves off, no one injured, only irritated.

           “You know, those things gave me an idea. Small simple robots are easier to make, and if you make a horde of them… And the transforming capabilities! Just think of the possibilities when the robots combine-“

           “I am going to cut you off before those ideas get worse.” Captain interjected.

           Coulson looked around at the wreckage and up at the New Year’s Countdown clock. “I am going to a bar.”

           Clint, who had been trying to gather the pages of his fallen book, jumped up, surprised. “Coulson, it’s not even 5’o’clock. And I thought you don’t drink?”

           His handler gave him a withering glare. “I don’t normally drink. Today is a particularly maddening exception.” Coulson stalked off in the direction of the restaurants and bars near the square.

           “Agent makes a convincing case. I’m joining him, as should you guys.” The team looked at Tony, unconvinced. “C’mon guys, think of it as a team bonding moment. We’ll get a commemorative photo and everything.”

           “When you put it that way…” Steve shrugged. It’s not like alcohol affects him anymore.

           “As long as the bar offers other options.” Bruce appeared from behind a car where he had been changing. "I’m not so fond of drinking, but I would like to come.”

           “As long as Stark pays for the good stuff.”

           Tony chuckled. “Only the best vodka for Miss Romanoff here.”

           “I would also like to partake in this Eve’s festivities. The bonding of our team is much important to me, as is trying New York’s finest ales.”

           “I’m in then.” Clint spoke up. “Let’s all drink Thor under the table, yeah?”

           “Is that a challenge, Hawk? I must warn you that I am quite skilled at holding my ale.”

           “It’s a challenge. Bring it.”

           The team ambled in the direction Coulson had left, chattering and joking along the way. Clint, unnoticed in the ruckus, slipped his paper out of his pocket again. _Two done at once!_  He congratulated himself. _The next two are hard._ Clint sighed. And he thought he had been doing so well.

 

\----4 + 5----

 

           “Neon signs are so pretty when you shoot them.” Clint was leaning on Tony, back-to-back, from an ill-chosen spot on the bar floor. “They go up in sparkles, dancin’ around like fireflies. I just wanna catch them in jars and give ‘em to sad people.”

           Tony laughed so hard he splashed his drink over his pants. “You’re a poet, Barton, a real poet. I bet you’re secretively sensitive and stuff.” He elbowed him, spilling more drink. “You should do it.”

           Clint lolled his head sideways to look at Tony. “Do what?”

           “Neon lights, fireflies, people, whatever. It’s the end of the year, go do anything. I’ll help you shoot the lights.”

           Natasha glanced down under the table at the two drunken Avengers. “Don’t end the year in the hospital you two.”

           “Admit your defeat in this challenge,” Thor spoke, barely tipsy. “Although you were most worthy foes, none can hold ale like Thor!” His booming laughter was not out of place in the bar’s atmosphere. In the hours they had been there, the mostly empty room had filled to an almost dangerous capacity. They were close to where the ball would drop, it was cold outside, and the bar offered hot cider: it was going to be a very crowded night. Bruce squeezed out from the mass carrying two tall glasses of cider. He handed them to Tony and Clint.

           “Here. Try to drink something other than alcohol for a while.”

           Tony took a huge sip and spluttered. “Ow! This is hot, I’ve burnt my tongue.  Are you trying to shut me up, Brucie?” Tony wobbled on his standing legs, shaking the cider glass at Bruce. “I thought we were science bros, buddies, amigos. Is this a fight, because I should let you know, I’ve won-“

           Steve grabbed Tony around the waist, steadying him and holding him back. “I’m going to take this one to the restroom. Happy just delivered some clean pants for Tony.”

           “Have fun getting pantsless!” Clint called after them, giggling. He hauled himself into a barstool, trying to flag down a waitress. He had an idea.

           The waitress gave him a wary look. “The scary one told me not to serve you anymore.”

           “The one in a suit?” She nodded. “Well, good thing I don’t want to drink anymore. No one will get in trouble, yeah? I just wanna try something.”

           “We don’t do samples.”

           “No, no, no. I meant, I want to try _making_ something. You guys have a normal kitchen?”

           She eyed him. “Yes…but you’re drunk.” Clint snatched a knife from the countertop, closed his eyes and threw it, trusting in his training. It stuck directly in the middle of the circular logo of the bar. 

           “Come on, could I do that if I was drunk? I’ll even pat my head and rub my belly at the same time if that’ll convince you.” Clint was pretty sure he was too drunk for the pat/rub            coordination trick. He crossed his fingers she wouldn’t ask.

           She shrugged. “As long as you don’t set the place on fire. And anyways, its New Year’s Eve, the time for doing something fun, right?”

           Clint through an arm around her, winking for extra measure. “ _Exactly_.” She led him into the kitchen and showed him around. He dug through the fridge, pulling out ingredients seemingly at random. The cook side-eyed him, looking to the waitress for an answer. She waved nonchalantly.

           “I need to man the bar. He’s fine, just don’t let him use the expensive stuff.”

           The cook peered over Clint’s shoulder, at the pile on the countertop. “Whattya makin’, man? What d’you need?”

           “You know how to make a good soup?”

 

(----+1----)

 

 

           Coulson had been nursing a single drink these last few hours. It was comforting, in a way, to be outside the mob of couples and wild groups of friends. He was on the outskirts, a perfect vantage point for people-watching, and the waves of noise and music washed over him without affecting him. He was alone, but he wasn’t. It was nice.

           He heard someone call his name, somewhere behind the crowd. He appeared, darting between dancers and kissers, carrying a large mug above his head, out of reach from the throng.  Clint approached, smiling wide and clearly still tipsy. “I made you a thing.” He held out the mug, suddenly getting embarrassed. “It’s weird, isn’t it? The mug is all they had that was clean right now and it’s soup and a mug is weird and I like cooking but I had to guess bits of this recipe because I only got a glance of it when you were-“

           “Barton, let me just try it before you condemn it.” Coulson took the mug and sipped cautiously. He laughed and took a longer swig. “I have no idea how you did it, but this is my mother’s tomato soup. This is what I would always have when I was sick in bed as a child.”

           “You said once, when you were leaking blood on a bad mission, might’ve been the delirium, but you said tomato soup always made you think of _home_ and _being loved_ but it was hard finding a soup like hers in the city.”

           Coulson met Clint’s eyes. He kept glancing away, but there was something not-drunk and not-joking there. Something _warm._ “You made this, Clint?”

           “Yeah, I did. Took a couple dozen practice tries, but yeah, I’ve been trying all year.” His cheeks were pink, embarrassment enhancing his tipsy flush.

           “Why?” Phil needed to test a hypothesis he hoped would prove true.

           “It’s a stupid New Year’s thing. I made a list last year, a long list of silly things to try to get done. I’ve been racing to finish the last few today.”

           “Was punching a bear on the list?”

           He laughed. “Yeah, I may have been drinking with Tony and Thor when I added that one.”

           Phil lifted up the now empty mug. “And this one?”

           Clint looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I, uh, wanted to cook something for someone. Someone that I care about. Because people say cooking is a way of…”

           The crowds grew louder; the countdown was beginning. The noise and excitement in the bar intensified, and Clint and Phil locked eyes.

           “Clint.” He set down the mug and stood, closing the distance between them. “Cooking is a way of?”

           “It’s a way of telling someone I-“ The noise drowned out his voice. All that could be heard was the loud screaming of _Ten! Nine! Eight!_  

           Phil pulled Clint towards him, hands tangled in his hair. He paused, their breaths combining, waiting. _Seven! Six! Five!_ Clint met his lips, warm and open. It was a soft kiss, a kiss for new beginnings. Clint wrapped his arms around Phil’s back, pressing against him tightly. _Four! Three! Two!_ They broke the kiss. _One! Happy New year!_ They leaned into each other, noses touching.

           “I didn’t finish my sentence.”

           “You didn’t need to.”

           Clint blushed. “So, uh, that. That was-“

           “That was you helping me complete my 2012 resolution.” Clint looked taken aback and Phil just met his surprise with a kiss, taking advantage of Clint’s slack-jawed reaction.  He sucked on Clint’s lip, intentions obvious, letting him know his response to Clint’s confession. Phil ran a hand down his chest, hooking a finger around his belt and tugging. “And that was you,” He whispered into Clint’s mouth. “Helping me make some resolutions for 2013.”

           “Dammit, Phil.” Clint chuckled breathily, “I’m still drunk, aren’t I?”

           “Yes, Clint, you are. But resolutions are for a whole year, if not longer. No hurry.”

           “ _A whole year_.” His smile was bright in the dim atmosphere, all his teeth showing, barely containing his excitement. “If not _longer_.”

           Phil placed his hands on both sides of Clint’s face, ghosting a kiss across his smiling face. “If not _forever._ ”

 

           The fireworks continued outside and revelers would celebrate all night. Strangers found strangers and lovers found lovers under the exploding neon lights. Lips met and bodies hugged and love-you’s were rushed in the moments between breaths. Memories were made like fireflies, too many to be contained at once, but caught as bright beauties to be let free on a sad day in the future.

           The team would tell Clint and Phil about the lights and the ball drop and the shouting crowds later. They would feign knowledge of what had happened, but they knew they had a better entrance to the New Year together, inside in the dark, heart meeting beating heart.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Clint's last few resolutions are as follows:  
> 1) Punch a bear  
> 2) Finish reading Lord of the Rings  
> 3) Win a fight without using a single arrow.  
> 4) Drink Thor under the table (he counts this one because he technically ended up under a table)  
> 5) Cook something for someone he loves.  
> (+1 was Phil's - kiss the man he loves before the year ends)
> 
> Kudos and comments are welcome :)


End file.
